


Procures

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 10:58:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10216478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Lindir always makes it clear whom he belongs to, but Elrond insists Lindir see the reverse is true as well.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for littlesparkleprince’s “Elrond/Lindir [...] with sub Elrond” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/158247933025/i-live-for-your-elrondlindir-fics-theyre-utter).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Even after the White Council has departed, Lindir remains tense, restrained, quiet even around his lord—the person who used to coax him the most out of his shell. Elrond can guess well enough why, and when a week’s passed and Lindir’s neither loosened nor said a thing about it, Elrond bids, “Lindir,” at the end of a long day. Turned to leave his lord’s study with a bundle of scrolls in his arms, Lindir freezes. Elrond orders softly, “Please accompany me to my quarters.”

Lindir says, “Yes, my lord,” without looking, and bows his head. He returns the scrolls he’d gathered to their shelf, leaving their perusal for another night. Doubtless, he needed a distraction. Elrond would rather face their problems.

He leaves his study at his normal pace, and Lindir falls into step behind him, not _beside_ him, as Elrond would prefer. By the time they’ve reached his rooms, the stars are all out, stretching through each pillar to bring pale highlights to Lindir’s steady frown. Elrond ushers him inside and seals the door again, trapping out all other sound. 

Then he strolls to the center of the room, where Lindir stands, posture abnormally poor and eyes downcast. Elrond has to catch his chin to force his gaze upwards, and when Elrond’s caught them, he asks, “What is it you fear, my songbird?”

Lindir flinches at the word ‘my.’ It normally delights him, but tonight, Lindir mumbles only a dejected, “My lord?” As though he hasn’t been eaten up since Galadriel first set foot within their walls. 

“You trouble yourself,” Elrond notes. He lets go of Lindir’s face, but Lindir doesn’t wilt again, just sucks in a breath and fights a visible tremor. “I worry for you—that seeing my mother-in-law is a more painful reminder for you than me.”

He’s found it; Lindir’s brow knits, face twisting, and he shakes his head and mutters, “Your marriage...”

“Was wonderful,” Elrond fills in. “I loved her dearly. I remember all the good times, like I remember much from many ages past, but they are, my darling Lindir, _past._ ”

Lindir wavers. Perhaps it’s his youth that prevents him from understanding; he’s never seen the life-changing devastation of _war_ , never known any who beheld the light of Valinor, never felt the turn of an Age. Elrond tries another tactic, slipping his hand into the one limp at Lindir’s side. He gives Lindir’s knuckles a gentle stroke, gives Lindir’s palm a little squeeze, and tries to push right through their bodies the _love_ he holds. “She has sailed,” he whispers, remembering his promise in the dead of night to never board any ship without his Lindir at his side. “She will find new things, new beings, new loves, and I am free to do the same. I _have_. When we meet again, we will be friends, more; she will always be the mother of my children. But our love has grown to something different, and what you and I share will blaze just as strong.”

“She was of royal blood,” Lindir murmurs, finally interjecting, only for Elrond to squeeze his hand again and press on.

“And you are a soul of equal worth. I tell you this constantly, and I will tell you more if I must. You are precious to me, Lindir, beyond anything you can know; I will not abandon you.” Lindir looks aside, and it occurs to Elrond to add slowly, “My sweet Lindir... you have always made it known that you are mine... but do you understand that _I_ am _yours_ as well?”

Lindir opens his mouth, but he can’t seem to answer. He eyes Elrond again, peering up through thick lashes, tongue struggling for words. If he’d just say _yes_ , they could move on, speak more and enjoy their night, but because he doesn’t, Elrond sighs and decides that actions will need to be made.

He takes a step back, giving Lindir space to breathe, and sinks gracefully to both knees. It’s been some time since he’s bowed to anyone, but the courtesy is still familiar. He still knows how to fold himself against the floor, and he presses his forehead at Lindir’s feet, his hair pooling around him and his fingers flat against the stone. He can hear Lindir’s quickened breath, can sense Lindir’s shock. When he straightens again, it’s only to sit, still perched on his rear, kneeling before his dutiful attendant. It’s a strange role reversal that seems to have left Lindir speechless. 

Elrond commands, “It will be like this, then. For tonight, I wish _you_ to be the master. I am yours entirely, and I wish you to _act upon it_ , to do with me as you will, to use and to dominate me. Perhaps my willing submission will teach you that _you_ are the lord of my heart.”

Another moment of silence, and Lindir’s knees give way; he collapses to lunge for Elrond, his hands quickly fisting in Elrond’s long hair and pulling him in. Elrond opens to meet a fierce, possessive kiss that betrays all Lindir’s fear; he’s normally so _gentle_ , so demure and delicate. Now he kisses with sheer _fire_ , as though Elrond will dissipate at any second and this is the last intimacy they’ll share.

One searing kiss after another, and Lindir kisses Elrond breathless, tongue and hands and teeth full of desperation. When he finally pulls away, he’s panting, and Elrond’s little better. Lindir still clings to him and asks, “Should we, my lord? Do you truly wish me to do this?”

“Yes,” Elrond answers without hesitation.

Lindir still falters. But he does stand up again, leaving Elrond on the floor. He brings his hand to his mouth and bites at one nail—a nervous habit. He waits a moment, maybe thinking, likely doubting, then turns and walks for the bed. Elrond stays in place, until Lindir takes a careful seat on the edge of his mattress and calls, “Please, come here, my lord.”

Even his commands are shaky, soft, but this one’s also firm, and Elrond listens. He rises to his feet and drifts forwards, until he’s standing right before Lindir, tucked just between Lindir’s spread legs, and Lindir reaches out to hold his hips. Elrond waits again for orders, and eventually, Lindir breathes, “Strip.”

Elrond obeys. He slowly unclasps his cape and lets it slither down his back to pool along his feet, then lifts the circlet from his head and drops it into the fabric pile. Lindir’s eyes widen slightly around the edges, but Elrond wants no reminder left of their different stations. His robes he deftly unfastens, discarding them the same way, until all that’s left are his trousers and tunic underneath. The tunic he pulls over his head, and as he starts on his trousers, he can’t help but enjoy the reverent look on Lindir’s face. Elrond knows he’s _old_ , knows he’s aged ungracefully, but Lindir never seems to mind that mortal weariness. He eyes Elrond’s bare chest with unabashed hunger, and he stares as Elrond pushes down his trousers, then steps out of his boots, to stand utterly naked before his closest servant. Lindir takes a few minutes just to look at him, and Elrond basks in the appreciation. It’s slightly cold, but hardly unbearable; the weather is still pleasant this time of year, and Lindir’s desire warms him. Finally, Lindir mutters, “Kneel.”

Elrond does, right atop the pile of clothes—the luxurious material protects his old knees. Lindir leans forward and slips one hand beneath Elrond’s chin, cupping and lifting it, and he’s blessed with a chaste kiss. This time, Lindir’s tongue comes more gradually, flicking, here and there, at the seam of Elrond’s lips, until he opens and sucks his prize inside. He gives a little suckle to it, and Lindir moans into his mouth, tilting and pressing closer. Elrond kisses back, but then Lindir shifts away, trailing little pecks along his jaw and up to his temple. Elrond thinks he knows what Lindir wants but won’t ask for. He gives it, nuzzling closer to kiss Lindir’s collar, down his clothed chest, and finally into his lap, where Lindir gasps and bucks up. 

Rolling up Lindir’s robes is somewhat difficult when he’s sitting, but Elrond perseveres, pausing here and there to kiss the growing bulge, and Lindir squirms and helps, until Elrond has a clear view of the tights below. He bunches those down Lindir’s waist and reaches in to cup the straining shaft trapped inside—Lindir cries out and doubles forward, hands fisting tight in Elrond’s hair. Elrond grunts at the sting to his scalp but says nothing to discourage it. He merely continues to pull out Lindir’s cock, freeing the entire length and ripe sac below. This he ducks to lightly kiss, then suck into his mouth, and Lindir whines again and thrusts forward. Elrond rewards the eagerness with a few lavish licks of his tongue, gently rolling both balls along it. The taste is bland, a little salty, hardly unpleasant—Lindir is always pristine. It’s been some time since Elrond tasted such parts of anyone, but he remembers how, and he can tell already that all of his attentions are much appreciated. Lindir’s hard shaft twitches against his cheek, and sucks one stone particularly hard. Lindir whimpers a needy, “ _Ohh_ , yes, El— _Elrond_...”

That’s a victory in itself. It always takes quite a bit to shake Lindir of his title, and even then, it never lasts. When Elrond tries to pull back, Lindir shoves him in again, hissing, “Sorry, mmph— _ohhhh_ , please...” So Elrond, even though he’d meant to give Lindir’s cock the same attention, continues to suck Lindir’s sac until Lindir tugs at his hair again and mutters, “Please, the rest... mmm...” For someone so reserved during the day, Lindir melts so easily at night. His voice is already semi-incoherent, spilling lewd, delicious noises that make Elrond stiff against his fallen clothes.

He deliberately doesn’t touch himself. He intends, tonight, to only take his pleasure with his lover’s leave. He fists his hands against his folded thighs and fights past Lindir’s grip on his hair to withdraw enough to lick the rest of Lindir’s length, wetting the entire underside before he reaches the head.

As he swirls the foreskin around with his tongue, Lindir slides his hands from Elrond’s hair along his cheeks, then thrusts two thumbs into Elrond’s mouth, prying it open. Elrond glances up, surprise but acceptance in his eyes, and Lindir moans, “Oh, I am sorry, my lord, but if I am to use you as I wish, I... I wish to see you open for me...” Elrond simply nods in Lindir’s hands, and opens wider, stretching his jaw for show. He doubts he could look half so beautiful as Lindir has in the same position, kneeling and ready for him, but Lindir’s eyes still fog with lust. Lindir guides Elrond forward, and Elrond lets himself be impaled on the tip of Lindir’s cock. 

Even like this, trembling with need, Lindir is slow, letting Elrond take a bit at a time. Elrond remembers how to adjust for it. While Lindir does the work of steering him, Elrond relaxes, enjoying the weight of Lindir on his tongue, the warmth of it and the mewling noise Lindir makes. His thumbs have to withdraw when he’s halfway down, giving Elrond room to take more, and when Lindir stops pushing forward, Elrond moves instead, taking the rest down his throat. He swallows Lindir whole and pauses to grow used to the feeling, while Lindir squirms and moans. All ten fingers return to his hair, holding him in. With his nose buried in Lindir’s pubic hair, Elrond suckles and waits. Then Lindir pants, “ _Elrond_ —” And Elrond takes the unspoken command to start.

He draws back at a measured pace, then pushes forward again, taking Lindir with a patience he doesn’t feel. He fears that if he moves too quickly or sucks too hard, Lindir will spend himself too soon; he’s already stiff and quivering, precum leaking down the back of Elrond’s throat. Elrond swallows it away and keeps going, bobbing up and down. The vulgar noises and raunchy scent get to him, but he only spreads his legs wider, lifting higher, to make sure nothing touches his cock. It juts out into the air, unfazed by the cool breeze. Elrond focuses all he is on pleasuring _Lindir_ , and Lindir moans gratefully for it, subtly rocking forward. Elrond consciously doesn’t hold him still. If Elrond’s mouth were free, he would say that Lindir could hump his face with reckless abandon if Lindir wished it; but Elrond’s mouth is stuffed full of cock, and he can’t bring himself to pull off long enough to say anything. So he just keeps sucking, licking, and swallowing Lindir’s long shaft with complete devotion.

“Elrond,” Lindir whines again, short and breathy, then, “Please, oh—I’m going to—” He bursts with a wordless cry, suddenly shoving Elrond down, and Elrond chokes once but reins it in and stills. Lindir’s orgasm shakes his whole body, his thighs tense and cock rigid, spurting one jet after another straight down Elrond’s throat. He swallows around it before it can pool up. He drinks down everything Lindir feeds him, until there’s only a few drops left, and Elrond has to push back to lick the clinging remains away.

He sucks Lindir dry just to be sure, cleans it all away, and then lets Lindir’s flagging cock slip free of his mouth. Lindir immediately pushes off the bed and collapses forward—Elrond has to lean back to make room. Lindir, otherwise still fully clothed, sprawls in his lap and wraps warm arms around him, pulling him close and insisting, “I love you, my lord, I do.”

“I do, as well,” Elrond promises. His voice is slightly hoarse from his throat’s treatment, but he manages and kisses Lindir’s cheek. He’s still fully hard against Lindir’s stomach but says nothing of it, just lets Lindir shudder in his embrace. 

“You are my everything,” Lindir goes on, turning to kiss Elrond’s lips, heedless of what was just between them. “You are all I wish for, all I desire—and I am yours, your humble servant, anything you wish. If you were to ever leave me, I...”

“You will have to leave me first,” Elrond promises, “For I am yours as wholly. Today, in this Age, all that I am belongs to you, and you need never fear otherwise.” 

Lindir smiles a guilty, heart-wrenching grin, like he _still_ can’t quite believe it but truly _wants_ to. Elrond knows it’ll take more time. In lieu of kissing Lindir’s mouth with his ruined one, he takes Lindir’s hand and lifts it to his lips. Lindir beams all the brighter, then blushes suddenly and glances down—Elrond’s twitched against his thigh.

“I would be very much obliged if you would prove that you accept my offer of myself,” Elrond suggests, “by making love to me.”

Lindir kisses him again, with as much intensity and ardour as the first one they ever shared. Then Lindir rises once more and reaches for Elrond’s hand, and they fall together to the bed.


End file.
